Abnormally Attracted to Sin
by BeTheWorld
Summary: "He knew who she was, of course. A Weasley. A blood traitor. A friend of Potter's. His mother would be appalled..." Blaise gets hung up on a certain Weasley. Written for K. Lynn Perks' Supernatural Quote Competition. Blaise/Ginny; Rated T for suggestive themes. Oneshot; COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer: **All characters and places belong to JK Rowling.

**A/N:** This was written for K. Lynn Perks' _Supernatural_ Quote Competition. The quote I had to use was "It must be hard with your sense of direction, never finding your way to a decent pickup line." So here's the collision of HP and SPN. :) (Not a crossover, though, just so we're clear.) Enjoy, and please…REVIEW!

_Abnormally Attracted to Sin_

The first time Blaise Zabini met Ginny Weasley, she was absolutely horrible to him. She insulted him; she got under his skin; she threatened him. And he was absolutely taken with her. He would never act on it, of course, wouldn't ever actually put himself in that position, but as something to be admired from afar…she was perfect. He'd noticed her before in the halls between lessons or at meal times, and he obviously knew who she was before they were officially introduced. A Weasley. A blood traitor. A friend of Potter's. His mother would be appalled.

So he kept his distance, consciously avoided making any sort of contact with her. He wanted to say it was because she disgusted him, repelled him, but he knew that wasn't entirely true. There was just something about her…something to do with her fire and passion and her biting, burning, stinging anger that got under his skin. He'd watched her, seen the flashes of darkness in her eyes when she didn't think anyone was looking. He'd seen the hard, cold fury burning just below her skin whenever she felt too ignored, too left out of the loop, too glossed over. He knew he shouldn't even be thinking about her, but there was a part of him that just couldn't help it.

It was on the school train that he first had an actual conversation with her, and that went about as well as he could have expected. She caught him laughing at Potter, and it was as though she'd exploded with a kind of righteous indignation that he'd never even seen before. He suddenly couldn't help himself; he wanted…no, he _needed_ to know where that had come from. He wanted to see what was hiding beneath the red hair and freckles that made her out-of-bounds for him. He wanted to dig his fingers into her and pry her apart; he never claimed to be a nice person.

His obsession with her quickly mounted, though, to the point where he couldn't even deny it anymore.

One day in late October of his sixth year, he was sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall, a hot mug of coffee clenched tightly in one hand, his face propped in the other. He was staring across the room absently, not really focused on anything, still barely awake through the haze and fog of morning. He was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped in surprise, his elbow slipping off the table, when someone sank heavily onto the bench next to him. Blaise turned to find Draco slumped in his seat, rubbing at his forehead and looking as though he'd just woken up.

"Merlin, I'm having a rough week," Draco said groggily, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. "You'd think, with all the people in the castle, that Potter would be able to find something better to do than follow me around wherever I go. I don't understand how he even keeps finding me!"

Blaise gave a noncommittal sort of grunt, his eyes flicking back to the Gryffindor table briefly. When he didn't answer, Draco looked up, following his gaze and frowning.

"Zabini," he scoffed, his eyebrows rising. "You're not still hung up on that Weaslette, are you? I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but frankly, it's disgusting."

Blaise waved a distracted hand at him, busying himself with the toast and marmalade that he'd abandoned several moments ago. "I'm not _hung up_ on her," he said. "I'm just…admiring her. I'd never actually _touch_ her."

Draco hummed disapprovingly as he stirred cream into his tea. "Well, let's hope that's the truth," he said in a tone that made it quite obvious to Blaise that Draco didn't really believe him, "or we'll have quite a bit of cleaning up to do once you've finished with her."

"And what's that supposed to mean, then?" Blaise asked him, raising an eyebrow. "When I've _finished_ with her?"

Draco fixed him with a hard look, his mouth drawn into a grimace. "Well, it's not exactly as though you want to get close to her, is it?" he said, looking as though the words were very difficult for him to say. "As much as it makes me sick to think about, maybe you just need to get her out of your system. You know, one and done. Just get it over with."

Blaise frowned. It wasn't something he'd expected Draco to say…not at all. It wasn't even really something he'd seriously considered. Alright, well, maybe a few times…but still. The thought was tantalising, intriguing. And that statement coming from Draco…it was as close to being granted permission as he was going to get. He peered across the hall again, watching her toss her head back and laugh at something Potter had just said to her.

"Yeah…maybe," he said, his mind whirling with images of fire. Just maybe…

* * *

It wasn't until later that week that Blaise finally worked up the courage to act on this new idea. It had been floating around in his head since Draco suggested it. It teased his thoughts, haunted his dreams, got under his skin and made him itch. And the more he thought of it, the more irresistible it seemed to become. He _had_ to do this, had to at least make a try at it, and on Friday afternoon the opportunity finally presented itself.

He caught sight of her lingering outside a classroom talking with a friend when he was on his way down to Potions. He watched her wave goodbye to the friend and jumped at the chance. He'd finally gotten her alone…now was the time to make his move.

"Weasley, wait up," he called after her as she turned to enter the classroom.

She turned, a smile on her face. Once she caught sight of him, though, her expression quickly darkened. "What do you want, Zabini?" she asked, her voice hostile.

"I heard you broke things off with Thomas," he said casually, holding onto the strap of his bag.

She raised an eyebrow. "And…?"

He shoved a hand in his pocket, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. He didn't want anyone overhearing this. It was embarrassing enough that he was willing to ask. "And I thought you might need a rebound," he told her, carefully schooling his face into an expression of nonchalance.

She frowned for a moment, working out what he was asking. Very quickly, an expression of disgust spread across her face. "You're revolting," she said coldly, shaking her head.

And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked into the classroom. That had not gone as planned…

* * *

The week after that, he was able to intercept her on her way into lunch. He caught her as she hung back from her group of friends to read the notice board outside the Hall. She turned in surprise at the sudden hand on her arm and wrenched it free once she realised who it was.

"Zabini, I'm telling you, leave me alone," she said, her voice hostile.

He sighed, glaring at her. "It's not as though I _want_ to want you," he said. "Can't imagine why I would, in fact."

"Oh that's nice," she snapped, beginning to walk away from him. "Very charming."

This was getting ridiculous. When he'd decided that he needed to pursue her, the thought that she would say no had never even crossed his mind. In all honesty, he probably shouldn't be surprised by it. The thing that drew him to her originally was the fact that she seemed to be so independent, so absolutely impervious to persuasion. If she didn't want something, she wasn't going to accept it.

The problem with this was, though, that every time she denied him, it just made him want her more.

* * *

He was walking down the corridor one day, lost in his own thoughts, trying hard to tune out the constant stream of complaints that was coming from Draco, when he suddenly felt himself crash into someone. He stumbled backward, catching himself on the wall.

"Sorry," he said hastily, looking up to see who he'd knocked over. "Oh…"

Of course. It was her. She was picking herself up off the floor, hastily stuffing books back in her bag. She turned to glare at him, her eyes flashing. "It must be hard with your sense of direction," she said viciously, "never being able to find your way to a decent pick up line. Get out of my way, Zabini. I've got more important things to be doing."

She pushed past him, knocking his shoulder roughly. Draco snorted as they watched her stalk off, and Blaise turned to glare at him. Draco just arched an eyebrow and gave him a disapproving look, shaking his head.

"Shut up," Blaise huffed.

* * *

It was late that night, as Blaise was wandering through the dark corridors on his own, that it finally happened. As he passed through the fourth floor corridor, lost in his thoughts, a hand shot out from one of the broom closets, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him in. The door clicked shut behind him, a faint light flaring up overhead.

"Alright, Zabini," she huffed. "What's this about? Is it a joke or do you have a bet going or something?"

He blinked his eyes, adjusting to the sudden flood of light as he adjusted his collar back into place. She was standing in front of him with a hand planted on her hip, expression furious. "I don't want anyone to know about it, if that's what you're asking. It's just something I need to get out of my system," he said, echoing Draco's words.

"And by something, you mean me," she said. It wasn't a question.

He shifted a bit in the small space, looking her up and down. "I suppose," he said curtly.

"No one will find out?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not," he said, shaking his head. "Wait…are you saying yes?"

She sighed, looking uncomfortable. "Well, I'm not about to start skirting around it," she said, resigned. "Let's just get this over with. Out of the way, so I can get you out of my head."

"Get _me_ out of _your_ head?" he asked sceptically. "I thought you wanted nothing to do with me."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously not in public," she said disdainfully. "As a matter of fact, I'm not too fond of you in private either. I'm willing to do this, though. I want it. But only once. After tonight, we don't speak. We don't do this again. We don't ever mention it. You got that?"

He bit down hard on his tongue, considering. Was this what he really wanted, or had it just been the chase? Now that she was here, offering, it seemed as though he had to make a decision.

"Fine," he said. "Let's get on with it."

They didn't talk at all after that, their mouths colliding with a pent-up force that he hadn't expected. It went off like an explosion, like fire, and he couldn't resist clouding closer. He was desperate for it, and it was exactly as he'd been picturing. Perfect. It was a snap of sexual tension, a scraping of fingernails over the back, a vicious, swirling mess. It was screaming and kicking and fighting, utter insanity. And it was exactly what he needed


End file.
